


Welcome Interrogator

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Filthy, Fuck Or Die, imported from LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter
Summary: Fuck-or-die dubcon for a long-ago stxisinfest prompt:"Kirk's well aware he's the last guy on earth Uhura would be interested in being with. That's why when he's drugged and needs to literally fuck someone or die and she's the only one around, he curls up and gets ready to die. She isn't having any of that."





	Welcome Interrogator

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fuck-or-die scenario and thus consent is at first dubious. All is resolved by the end of the fic, and enthusiastic consent is obtained.

He's not going to ask. 

He has his pride, been shot down too many times, whatever. He's not going to beg. It's not even that it's her-- it's that it'd be letting them win-- too-- fine, it's a little bit that it's her-- but it's also that it'd be letting them win. 

Asking Uhura-- Nyota he says in his head-- to fuck him, to make the burn stop, to make the ache, the feeling like he's going to explode go away, so simple, all he has to do is give in, ask, open his mouth-- he might as well babble the sector protections as well, tell these animals the theory of warp flight, teach a class on nuclear physics and how to build a photon torpedo and otherwise open to them all the keener forms of death in the universe that their small corner with their disgusting fuck-or-die plants haven't yet discovered. Asking her is asking them for mercy, is asking Kodos or Frank or anyone else who thought might was right and while Uhura wouldn't see it that way, would be insulted-- as she was by everything Jim did-- by the analogy-- the fact was-- he wasn't going to give in to these bastards and he didn't need Bones and his tricorder here to know it was going to kill him. 

The only thing they've got going for them is brute force-- and he spits again at the vile taste of those filthy fingers as they shoved those leaves down his throat, held his nose shut, pinned his arms and legs down until he had no choice but to swallow while Uhura maintained enough dignity for both of them and kept her beautiful face so impassive, like she didn't give two shits what they were doing. 

Of course, she probably didn't, but she'd at least make a thorough and detailed report when they got back to the ship.

He shudders as another convulsion rocks through him, then pulls his knees into his chest and tucks his head in as closely as possible-- the cramping's less painful this way. 

His pulse pounds in his ears-- his heart sounds like a drum, his lungs like bellows in the worlds' largest forge-- fitting, because he feels like he's been heated to a thousand degrees, and it takes him a moment to realize Uhura's talking to him. Her mouth's moving, but the words don't make any sense, and not even because it's some uncharacteristic proposition she's making-- it's just-- there's sound, and it's coming from her, but whatever it is, Jim's brain doesn't work to translate the sound into words. He wonders if that's the effect of the leaves, not that it matters-- he just needs her to get the hell away from him, someplace where he can't smell the salt-citrus tang of her skin, see the smooth curves of her bones taut under caramel covering, the fall of dark hair that knows better than to escape from its ponytail, even in an alien dungeon, and eyes dark as her sarcasm and sharp as her tongue, the way they're looking at him so angrily, like he's the biggest fool in the universe. 

He is, of course.

He shoves her away and tucks his hands under his knees, curls his fingers into the backs of his thighs until he can feel fingernails dig into skin through the fabric. It's a momentary distraction from the way his cock's going to explode any minute now, how just that small movement forward to push his comms officer out of his sight was torture, the strain of fabric over hard tissue so painful-- no pleasure-- and the pain of it makes him think of other times with more mundane pain helped distract him from thoughts of ...

He pulls one hand out from under his knee and bites down-- the wash of pain is so pure, so intense, that the fire under his skin doesn't come back for another thirty two seconds. He counts. Spock's not the only one with a precise internal clock. Jim just chooses not to be a declaratory asshole about it.

It's the pure, precise, delicious distraction of nails clawing his arm that distracts him from deep thoughts about whether he'd rather gnaw his arm off and bleed to death or die from convulsions from this damned plant that alerts him again to Uhura's beautiful presence-- because as angry as she is right know, she's fucking stunning, and he's so busy thinking how gorgeous she is that precious seconds go by in which she yanks him forward with preternatural strength, unbuttons his fly, tugs down his pants and his boxers, and straddles him in one graceful motion so forceful and angry that he's still thinking "what, huh?" as she sinks all the way down onto his cock. 

His hard-- aching cock-- and that's the end of all rational thought.

Hands go up, latch onto hips-- knees straddle and oh holy shit she widens her stance and fuck-- if he bucks like a bronco, unable to stop, she rides him like a stallion, and her dress is in shreds under his hands after he's come once and flipped her all the better to throw her legs over his shoulders because deeper, harder, faster, now is all his world is becoming and he can barely see through the haze of red to the sweat coating her beautiful body or the way she arches and screams when he sucks at her clit before flipping her over and slamming into her from behind, unable to stop.

He hopes maybe it's a stroke of luck on his part-- on hers, not so much, that he's rolled her on top again and she's clawing his chest like a wildcat in heat when things sparkle and then-- they're on the platform and she's coming from the combo of Jim's thumb on her clit and two fingers stroking in and out of her ass as he thrusts up inside her when the rest of their bridge crew resolves into view.

Suffice it to say, "Fascinating" does not seem to be the word any of them would use to describe what they're seeing.

Bones hits them both with hypos so fast that Jim blacks out before he gets to finish hearing her screaming his name. He's always hated his best friend just a little.

\--

When he wakes up a day and a half later in Sickbay, Uhura's nowhere to be seen, but Bones is-- and the man doesn't look smug or like he's about to lecture his Captain about the risks of away missions planetside. 

Instead, he just checks Jim over and tells him Jim needed old-fashioned dialysis because he waited so long to get those damned leaves out of his system that he nearly died anyway. 

"Never let it be said I'm not a gentleman, Bones," Jim says as he puts on his shirt-- damn, but he's achy and sore, even as Bones has healed up any visible signs of-- his tearing into his comms officer like a goddamned fucking animal.

"How is Lieutenant Uhura?" he asks-- because he has to know, damnit, and whether it's as a man or as Captain, it doesn't much matter.

"You should ask her yourself."

"I'm the last one who should be talking to her," Jim answers. 

Bones just looks at him until Jim starts to fidget-- then says "No, really, you should be the first. Really. Talk to her, Jim."

He beats it back to his quarters ASAP and sleeps for the rest of the 24 hours Bones has put him on leave.

\--

He manages to avoid his comms officer for three more days by dint of fucking around with the command schedule rotation, making it so Spock takes alpha and beta and Jim takes the graveyard and swing shifts on the bridge once the regular command crew is gone for the day. It's not like he hasn't done it before-- he likes to know every one of his crew and make sure that they know him in return, and he distracts himself with enough work and checkups with Bones to make sure he only thinks of caramel skin and shrill cries and hair slapping him in the face when she tosses her head in ecstasy a half dozen times in a day.

And then she shows up at his door as he's heading out to the mess in the middle of graveyard shift. He lets her push him back inside with one elegant finger because whatever this is, it's going to be ugly.

She looks grave herself-- sad, rather than angry-- and damnit, Jim's fucked this up, he's assumed all along that she'd be furious with him rather than feeling taken advantage of, that what he'd been avoiding was getting his ass kicked rather than soothing her tears.

"Uhura," he says, worried, because really, her color's not great-- she's still the most gorgeous thing going, but she doesn't look happy or pleased with herself, that little edge of self-satisfaction that gave her that glow Jim loves so very much. 

"Are you alright? Jesus-- I'm sorry-- I'm so, so, sorry, I should have come by before, I just ... I'm sorry, and look, whatever you need, okay, you don't have to worry about my thinking you're still the best ears in 'Fleet and if you don't want to be on the bridge at the same time as me that's ok, I can still take delta and gamma, but if you want a transfer, I'll pull whatever strings you want to get you whatever posting, I just ... I'm so sorry," he finishes, lamely, because that's what he is around her, totally lame, and she's just staring at him like he's speaking some language she's never heard spoken before.

And then she laughs at him-- laughs, but it's not a pretty sound, and then she starts crying, tears streaking down her beautiful cheeks, and Jim's not quite sure what to do except what you usually do in these cases, so he gingerly takes her into his arms and holds her until she stops crying. 

It takes her a while.

"You honestly think I came here to yell at you, or tell you I wanted off of this ship, or that I expected you to compromise your ability to lead this crew as Captain because I've made it clear I dislike you so much?"

Jim's never been one to avoid answering a question, even an uncomfortable one, and he's pretty much at the end of his tether with this woman-- she could gut him, take away his ship, with just one report to Starfleet Command, so he answers.

"Well, yeah."

Another tear rolls down her cheek and she swipes at it angrily. 

"I hate you. I really, really hate you. You know what xenolinguistics is. You speak more languages than all the other Captains combined. You don't expect Spock to be human, nor any of the other non-human crew."

Chest heaving, she swallows, then she continues. 

"You-- you tell dirty jokes and don't file your paperwork on time and you're late to meetings because you're busy helping Ensigns fold laundry and I met your mother once and she's the coldest woman I've ever met in my life and I can't believe you honestly, honestly think I would rather let you die than have sex with you and you bit yourself so hard that McCoy wasn't sure all your fingers were going to work and you really have really nice hands, you know." Her voice cracks just a little on the word "nice."

Jim's brain is stuck on the part where she's crying and damnit, that's just not right, so he pulls out the hanky he keeps in one of his pants cargo pockets along with a lockpick and some plasfilm and a few other things he keeps around just in case, well, you never know and it worked for MacGyver, and offers it to her-- and this just makes her choke out a truly unflattering sob, so he hugs her again, his "there, there, Lieutenant," and "Uhura, don't cry," totally lame, and this makes her cry even harder.

"Come on, Uhura, it'll be ok, we can forget this all ever happened and go back to our usual snark. I'll ogle, you'll slap me down, we'll all be one happy family." 

Her arms have come to circle his waist at some point as they stand in the awkward dark of his room, and his shirts are soaked through from her tears and her snot and he doesn't need night vision to see her mascara's run all over her face. He wonders if it's going to come out of his gold shirt or if Lottie in Laundry's going to kill him for ruining yet another one. He and shirts just don't get along.

When she looks at him, something in her's a little bit broken-- or open-- or something-- and she says solemnly-- "You made me come twice for every time you did and for heaven's sake, you were dying and you still made me come harder in a hideous alien dungeon than I've ever come in my life. I think you can call me Nyota."

And that-- well-- maybe she's not the one who's a little bit broken-- or open-- or something-- or maybe it's just his jaw that's wide open and she laughs more brightly at something in his expression this time and says-- "Are you going to kiss me now, or do I have to do all the work?"

Jim nods-- then realizes that what he wants to say is not yes but no, Nyota's not going to have to do all the work, Jim's a very hard worker, then tells his head to shut the hell up and kisses his comms officer, just like she asked.

She tastes like cocoa and spice and everything rich and forbidden--'til now-- and if all it was going to take was nearly dying from some fuck-or-die plant force fed to him by some horrible aliens whose planet he's totally going to blackball forever, well, they should have done this years ago-- and fine, maybe she's laughing at him more than a little as he says this aloud, but she's also not stopping him when he pulls her dress over her head and backs her toward his bed, ordering the lights up because this time-- this time he's going to look and he's taking his time.

He tugs off the boots, one at a time, relishing the reveal of lean dancer's flesh, and she flushes when he licks his way from the arch of one foot up the inside of her leg to the crest of her panties and then licks his way all the way down, pausing to nibble and suck at the ball of her foot before he looks back up the length of her body. 

She doesn't do anything so obvious as shudder-- she wouldn't, but when he leans forward, she does grab the hems of his shirts and tug upwards, nails dragging lightly as she tugs the fabric up and away. He sheds clothes until he's down to his briefs and her eyes widen a little at the obvious bulge there-- because he's always at least half-hard when he's around her, it's just fucking nature or something.

He's never gotten to just look his fill before, and really, he could stare at her forever, so he just takes her in for a bit, hands and eyes wandering over all her soft curves and sharp angles and perfect proportions and small flaws that add up to Nyota Uhura and then he adds his tongue to the mix because taste is one of the senses and Jim is a Hedonist of the first order once he's gotten permission. 

He's pretty sure "I think you can call me Nyota" plus keeping track of how many times he made her come counts as permission. Nevertheless, his average is more like three times, not two, so he strives to get back on his game. 

He sucks and fondles her through her lingerie-- not the boring white issue he once saw her in, but racy, lacy, barely-there stuff he wonders if she put on just for him and he doesn't know if that's more thrilling than the thought that maybe this is the stuff she wears every day-- but in any event, it deserves some attention, so he licks her musky, beautiful cunt through the sheer fabric and sucks and scrapes at her nipples until she's writhing and scratching his back with her nails, teasing and rubbing with fingers and mouth until she whines and growls like a cat-- and he rubs her off through the fabric roughly and sharply, the contrast sending her sparking and arching into Jim's mouth. 

When she's done trembling, he rips the bra and panties off with his bare hands and teeth because he's got a sweet salary and he can buy her some more, a thought that's totally awesome, then sucks her clit until she comes, screaming and dripping all over his face. It doesn't take him that long and he smiles to himself-- the lingerie ripping thing always is a knee-buckler. 

Then he gives her head for a while, just because, well, Jim's also got a talented tongue and he likes to use it.

Eventually, he switches it up, explores her folds with his hands as he watches, licking his lips and hers as she arches and bends, hips thrusting as he puts both sets of fingers to work on clit, pussy and ass-- she's gorgeous, unbelievably so, when she comes, and he's so hard and aching right now that if she touched him just once he's pretty sure he'd come like he was twelve. 

He's relieved-- more than a bit-- that she's kinky enough to grind into his fingers when he goes for the two-handed approach-- some women just aren't-- and he can't help the small gasp that escapes him when the hand that's weakly clasping his back in the aftermath of her fifth screaming orgasm brushes its way over his ass and then nails scrape not just over his balls but the pucker of his asshole, the pointed claws circling and plucking until his toes curl.

"Nyota, you kinky bitch," he says in her ear, and she purrs, the rumble in her chest pressing those breasts of hers against Jim-- his cock twitches and reminds him that it wants in on the action and isn't going to wait very much longer.

"You haven't seen anything yet..." she says, then gasps "Captain" in a way that's totally gratifying when Jim pulls back and fills her-- and his cock is so very happy with him right about now-- she's so tight and sleek and her thighs are clamped and trembling around him. 

He goes slow-- or tries to-- and when he gets too close to the edge, he pulls out and licks Nyota until he's got her juices all over his face again and her voice is nothing but rasped squeaks and gasps, her hands clawed and convulsing on Jim-- and then he can't hold back any longer and she's somehow on top and riding him to completion, the sight of her breasts swaying and bouncing and her hair all undone, hanks of it gripped in his hands like the reins of a horse-- he shouts and arches before he falls back into the bed and she collapses atop him, her small weight utterly welcome.

In the morning, she's gone, but she smiles at him during their bridge shift and that night, she shows up after supper and peels off her dress the minute she walks in his door. 

She shows up the night after that, too-- and the night after that. A week later, he does the bravest thing of his life. He's about to walk off the bridge to a meeting when he catches her eye. 

"So. Nyota. Any plans for dinner?"

She smiles-- so fucking gorgeous-- and says "I was hoping you'd ask."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-off as I bring over my rarer pairs from my LJ.


End file.
